


I still can't believe I wrote this

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And no, it doesn't get a name. Or a summary. You've seen the tags, you know what you're in for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I still can't believe I wrote this

Spencer finishes dragging the last of the pillows in just as Ryan stirs, mumbling sleepily, head barely above the water. "Spence," he mutters. "I know you're tired, you don't have to sleep in here."

It's true; they're all fucking exhausted, venues to buses to interviews and back again. It's been a long--three? five? Spencer's having trouble keeping track--few days and he would be lying if a bed didn't seem incredibly appealing right now, but.

"Hey, it's fine," Spencer says, dropping down on the blankets with an involuntary sigh, just a breath of exhalation. "Ryan, seriously. It's okay, I don't mind."

Ryan _mmm's_ noncommittally, head against the inflatable pillow he always travels with. Spencer reaches over and brushes Ryan's bangs away from his face, hair too long and curling into his eyes. He would be worried about Ryan falling asleep in the tub, if he didn't know it was actually, physically impossible for Ryan to drown. Spencer remembers the first time he'd snuck into the Ross's house, tiptoed through the unlocked door, intent on surprising Ryan with the new Blink CD that had arrived with the morning mail. He'd nearly had a heart attack when he'd found Ryan floating peacefully underwater in their small tub, the water cold and Ryan face up, not breathing. Spencer remembers the sound of the CD case shattering on the ground, a strangled noise leaving his throat as he'd yanked Ryan up out of the water, Ryan coughing and sputtering and looking at him bemusedly.

And then Spencer had looked down, and, well.

Spencer's man enough to admit he freaked out for a few days, but he's not the kind of guy to let a few tentacles ("_Hereditary condition,_" Ryan always hisses at him, when he's mad and feels like picking a fight, "_It's a hereditary condition_,") get in the way of a friendship.

Spencer leans over the lip of the extra large, jacuzzi-style tub and tests the water temperature with one hand. It's usually a pretty good indicator of Ryan's mood; his body temperature doesn't regulate the same way that Spencer's does, and usually he's pretty happy sitting in what Spencer would consider to be ball-freezing water temperatures. It's hot today though, the temperature of the kind of bath Spencer would draw for himself. Spencer knows that means Ryan really is sore and exhausted, that he needs the heat to stretch out his cramped muscles that Ryan's been forcing into odd positions for days. Technically he shouldn't be able to walk--Ryan's dad hadn't been able to, at the end--but Ryan has had a lot of practice. Spencer always has to suppress a laugh when someone suggests that Ryan's tight pants and pointy shoes are simply a sartorial choice.

"What are you doing," Ryan mumbles again, mouth barely moving. "M'sleepy."

Spencer tosses off his t-shirt and boxers, letting them drop onto the nest of blanket's he's set up on the floor of the bathroom. "Shove over," he says, once he's fully naked, and climbs into the tub. He winces once he gets in, seeing how much of the water has been displaced by his body weight; the water's sloshing dangerously close to the lip. It feels good on his muscles, though, the pressure from the jets steady and thrumming into his lower back. Spencer reaches down and pulls the plug out of the drain, lowers the water level until he can see Ryan's thin shoulders, the upper curve of his biceps.

He sits for a while, leaning against the side of the tub, just zoning out and watching Ryan doze. He's almost to that point himself, (despite his lack of ability to breathe underwater should _he_ fall asleep in the tub), when he feels a stroking along his calf, gentle and questioning.

"Hey," Spencer says, poking Ryan's shoulder gently. "I know you're awake, don't front."

Ryan snickers and raises his head, eyes sleepy and warm. "C'mere," he says instead, beckoning with one outstretched hand. "You're too far away, come over here."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, pushing off the side of the tub and closing the few feet between them. "Two feet is too far, I see how it is."

Spencer straddles Ryan's hips, reveling in the sensation of all the skin under his hands. He understands, okay, there's a definite reason for all the long-sleeves and boots and scarves, but it doesn't change the fact that Ryan spread out beneath him like this is an unusual luxury.

"Wake up," Spencer murmurs again, nuzzling into the crook of Ryan's neck, smelling his hair, that particular Ryan-smell, clean and salty. "Oh my god, I'm awake," Ryan says, frowning. "We've established this."

"Just checking," Spencer says, sliding his palms down to cup Ryan's hips, stroking his thumbs down the indent where Ryan's abdominal muscles give way to his obliques. Spencer tilts his head down, just looking. The thin delicate skin on Ryan's hips shade into a pale blue under his fingertips, at first so gradual it's hard to tell the difference. The rest of him is a thick, deep mottled blue, tinged with green on the outer edge of where Ryan's legs would be, if.

(Spencer knows it's a little strange, but in his less-guarded moments he finds himself thinking, _pretty_.)

Ryan pushes upwards then, against his hands, makes a movement that would be spastic if they weren't underwater. As it is he sort of slides upwards as Spencer presses downwards, meeting him halfway, mouth open. Ryan twines his arms around Spencer's neck as they kiss, nipping at Spencer's lips, teasing him with little flicks of his tongue. Normally Spencer would be holding him down, pressing him into the back of the tub, forcing the issue, but he's tired and kind of lazy and he just lets Ryan play, holding himself in place with one arm resting on the back of the tub and one around Ryan's waist.

Ryan bites his lower lip just as Spencer feels soft, gentle pressure on his legs, around his thighs, teasing, testing. Ryan sort of twines around him, holding him in place so Spencer doesn't have to hold himself up while he's straddling Ryan. Spencer appreciates the thought.

The thing is, Spencer knows it's weird. He's fully aware that what he and Ryan do in bed would be considered fucked up by 90% of the population, including, Spencer suspects, their own bandmates.

(Not that Jon, upon being let in to their band secret ever really reacted beyond a casual "Dude, are they like, fingers? Can you like, play guitar with those?" If Jon thinks their relationship is strange, he's never said a word. Brendon, on the other hand, had turned decidedly green the first time he saw Ryan sans pants, and every once in a while he gives Spencer these _looks_. Not a look of condemnation--Brendon's pretty live and let live, almost to a fault--but a look of something like pity mixed with awe, like Spencer's doing Ryan a _favor_. Spencer hates it when Brendon pulls that shit. Ryan is just--he's _Ryan_, and that's all Spencer's ever needed from him; no more, no less.)

Spencer grins against Ryan's mouth, feeling Ryan shift and move against him, getting more comfortable. He drops his mouth to Ryan's long neck and bites, gently at first and then rougher, skin beneath his tongue and he can feel Ryan tighten around him, drawing him in, limbs wrapped around his upper thighs, his back, his ankles. Ryan lifts up and catches Spencer's mouth in another kiss, more purposeful this time, focused and intent. Spencer can feel Ryan getting hard against him, the tiny tremors in his body as he works against the water's buoyancy, holding both of them in place.

("Sometimes I think you get off on it," Ryan said to him once, while they were lying in bed watching Law and Order, humidifier at full blast.

"Get off on what?" Spencer had asked.

"That I'm a freak," Ryan had said. "You know."

"You're not a freak," Spencer had said, automatically. He wasn't aware of himself enough at the time to say what he had really been thinking, which was _sometimes, maybe, yes_. He hadn't known how to verbalize that while it certainly wasn't the reason he was with Ryan, sometimes there were added bonuses.)

"I want," Ryan mumbles into Spencer's throat, just before a particularly vicious bite that has Spencer gasping and arching, a hot line of sensation that travels straight down his back and into his cock. "What do you want, Spence, I'm--" Ryan rolls his hips against Spencer's, soothing the sore spot on Spencer's neck with his tongue, little kitten licks against the abused flesh. Spencer's going to have a mark there tomorrow, he can feel it.

"Where's your toiletry bag," Spencer says while sucking on Ryan's collarbone, making him squirm and flail out a hand for it, blindly. Ryan grabs the black bag from the edge of the tub and fumbles around, pulling out a travel-sized jar of Vaseline. Spencer would be seriously embarrassed by the amount of petroleum jelly he and Ryan go through, if he ever let himself actually quantify it. It's not Spencer's fault most of the sex they have tends to be underwater, and that things like body wash and soap irritate the delicate skin on Ryan's tentacle half.

(Ryan's remarked, at length, on how _plebeian_ it is, using Vaseline and not like, scented oil infused with jasmine or something or any of the various silicone lubes they'd tried and discarded, but Spencer had pointed out that until someone invented a waterproof lube for couples in their particular situation, Ryan would just need to shut up and deal if he wanted to get laid.)

Ryan screws the cap off with one hand, nimble fingers reaching in to scoop out a tablespoon's worth while the other reaches down to stroke Spencer's inner thigh, teasing him with light, barely there pressure, running his fingers over where he's holding Spencer in place. It amazes Spencer, sometimes, how Ryan can do so many things at once, can control all his limbs with surprising such surprising precision and dexterity. When he really wants to, Ryan can quite literally make Spencer feel like he's in the middle of an orgy.

Ryan pulls his other hand up out of the water, spreading a light layer of petroleum jelly over both hands, then shifting slightly so he can twine an extra tentacle over Spencer's shoulder, coating it with a casual, practiced motion, like dipping a paintbrush in ink. Spencer snorts, amused--it's still kind of funny, even after all this time--and Ryan half grins as he says "What can I say, I'm ambidextrous," into Spencer's mouth.

"Wouldn't that be, like, multi-dexterous, or something--_fuck_," Spencer moans, teasing tone abruptly cut off as Ryan wraps both slick hands around his cock at the same time, stroking him with an easy, rhythmic motion. Spencer can feel Ryan pressing up against him from behind, feathering around his hole, light and gentle, petting him almost. "Jesus _fuck_," Spencer moans again, Ryan's grip and speed absolutely perfect, taking him apart by slow, measured degrees. Ryan could certainly jerk him off with other parts of his anatomy but Spencer prefers it like this, Ryan's hands wrapped around him. It's more intimate, somehow. One of Ryan's hands is wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking him effortlessly, while Ryan massages his head with the other, every once in a while pressing hard on the spot that makes Spencer's vision tingle and waver.

_Brendon is stupid_, Spencer thinks, in a moment of clarity, when he's not too busy pleading with Ryan for more, more friction, more anything, hips jerking restlessly. _Brendon is stupid because my boyfriend effectively has like, six hands and holy fuck, is it **awesome**_.

Ryan's mouth is open, panting as he watches Spencer. Spencer spares a brief moment to regret the fact that they're doing this underwater, because Ryan looks good like this and in a perfect world Spencer would really like to maybe come on Ryan's face, watch his mouth fall open and his eyes close. Ryan's everywhere, though, around him and inside him and Spencer bites his lip viciously as he comes, shaking, into Ryan's hand.

"Spencer," Ryan gasps, panting against his collarbone, "Spencer, Spencer, _fuck_, you look--" Spencer's still hazy from his orgasm, muscles twitching spasmodically but he can feel the way Ryan's stomach muscles are trembling and he covers them with one warm palm, grasping Ryan's cock in his other hand and pulling it on roughly, setting a quick rhythm. Ryan's back arches and he's so gorgeous like this, all lean lines and curves, head thrown back, red mouth open and wet. Ryan whimpers when he comes, little gasps and short, jerky movements of his hips.

Spencer lets him come down, petting at his sides and back while Ryan's breathing slows to something resembling normal.

"Hey," Spencer says, and looks down at the mess they've made of the bathwater, oil from the Vaseline and come floating around them. "I think we need to draw you another bath to sleep in." He grins when Ryan peels his eyelids open and wrinkles his nose at the state of the tub. "Ugh," Ryan says, carefully releasing Spencer from where he'd been holding him, slick skin whispering against Spencer's own. "We're so gross, sometimes."

"Easier to clean than sheets," Spencer points out. "Also, it wouldn't kill you to actually take a shower once in a while. With actual soap."

"Whatever," Ryan says, rolling his neck out, wincing as his back pops with an audible crack. "I spend half my time in the water. I'm a clean boy, okay. All-American, all that shit. It's not my fault I have delicate skin."

"Yeah, okay," Spencer says. "I'm going to take a shower." He stands up, toeing the plug open and stepping out as the water begins to drain. There's a rack of fresh towels over the toilet and he grabs one off the rack and drops another on Ryan's head before crossing the bathroom to the glass shower built into the wall. He hears a loud squawk and a drawn-out sigh before he feels Ryan shuffle up against his back, hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "I'm still tired, my everything aches."

"Your everything?" Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," Ryan whines. "Hold me up?"

Spencer hooks an arm around Ryan's waist, tugging him towards his hip as the shower cuts on with a loud hiss. "Yeah, okay," Spencer says, and grins. "I can do that."  



End file.
